


Impression, Seduction

by The_Bentley



Series: Kisses Bingo Fics [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Art Shows, Come Eating, Hand Jobs, Historical References, M/M, Paris (City), Public Hand Jobs, Seduction, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:21:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26193331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bentley/pseuds/The_Bentley
Summary: “You’re so easy to read, angel.  All those feelings for me buried beneath that need to bow to duty.”Shifting so he could keep Aziraphale against the wall, he seduced him.Crowley tempts Aziraphale in very inappropriate ways at the first Impressionist Exhibition in Paris.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Kisses Bingo Fics [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861126
Comments: 10
Kudos: 71
Collections: Kisses Bingo





	Impression, Seduction

**Author's Note:**

> Kisses Bingo call: Air kisses

_Paris, 1874. First Impressionist Exhibition._

“Come to smirk at the Impressionists?”

Crowley had approached Aziraphale from behind and had leaned in to whisper in his ear. His target startled in surprise, not expecting company at this particular exhibition. Aziraphale had thought Crowley was back in London since the Tsar of Russia was coming in for a state visit in a few short days. It was a prime example of an event where he could cause some mischief. Like, ruin the opportunity for a treaty, for instance. Apparently, Crowley was not interested in playing politics.

“It _is_ rather different for art.” 

Crowley stalked around him, staring at the painting in front of them. It was titled _Impression, Sunrise._ Claude Monet had painted it in a radical style that differed from the accepted norm. There were no precise brushstrokes, sombre colours, or religious subjects favoured by the Salon. Monet’s painting was hazy-looking, done in greys with broad unfinished brushstrokes. Blue-grey and orange cut through the foggy greys giving it a touch of colour and detail, but not much. 

“The establishment hates it. I hear these artists are having their own exhibition because none can get anything approved by the Salon’s jury.” [1]

Crowley prowled again to Aziraphale’s other side, head cocked. He contemplated the work before moving on to view the next one. Aziraphale tagged after him, curious to why Crowley had bothered to show up here.

Critics passed by, commenting unfinished wallpaper looked better than the art. Crowley glowered at them. Aziraphale looked uncomfortable, straightening his ascot as he listened to more mocking comments.

“I was thinking of making it popular to spite the Salon,” Crowley stated. 

He was quite close to Aziraphale, his breath tickling at Aziraphale’s ear. Crowley could hear him take in a sharp breath. 

“I don’t quite understand the point of painting something that looks unfinished.”

“It’s a style of movement. Of candidness. Of light and bright colours.” Crowley was moving about him again, circling in tighter like a predator stalking its prey. “Of life.” He was standing before Aziraphale between him and the painting. His face was close to the angel’s, his eyes seductive behind the dark glasses. “We view the subject. We don’t bother to take in the details.”

The demon’s lips were close to Aziraphale’s cheek. He let a quick kiss into the air, a hairsbreadth from touching Aziraphale’s skin. Aziraphale felt weak at the knees as he felt Crowley’s breath. Crowley smiled as he saw him stumble.

“Oh!”

“It leaves you wanting more, doesn’t it?” 

Crowley wasn’t discussing art anymore. Aziraphale remained stanch, walking on to the next painting. It was a portrait of a young dancer in a formal pose, dressed in a light blue costume. [2] But Aziraphale didn’t look at her very long before his attention was drawn away. A crowd surrounded a painting of a nude reposing in her boudoir that was causing a scandal. [3] It was implied the woman in the painting sold the pleasures of the flesh.

“I can get my fill here perfectly fine.” 

Aziraphale strolled away from the nude to check out tamer offerings instead. He and Crowley were alone in this part of the venue with only the art surrounding them. Grinning like a mad man, Crowley made his move. Aziraphale was soon pinned in a sensuous manner by Crowley's hips against the wall. His firm hands were placed on Aziraphale's shoulders. Gasping in surprise, Aziraphale sputtered as he looked at Crowley’s pleased expression.

“This is entirely inappropriate for public, Crowley! And don’t you stand there looking like the cat that got the cream.”

“A little demonic miracle is making sure no humans can perceive us, so relax. Do you want me to continue? I could show you a good time.” 

He had lifted his hands off of Aziraphale's shoulders so the angel could walk away if he chose to do so. One was now hovering over Aziraphale’s trousers, waiting for a reply. Closing his eyes for a moment, Aziraphale revelled in the feeling of the one he secretly loved standing so close to him. He nodded at Crowley. 

“Yes, please. Continue.” 

Reaching up, he caressed Crowley’s high cheekbone to affirm his desires.

“You’re so easy to read, angel. All those feelings for me buried beneath that need to bow to duty.”

Shifting so he could keep him against the wall, Crowley seduced him by reaching into Aziraphale’s trousers to tease out his hardening cock. Running his thumb over the head, he coaxed it to complete erectness. Slim fingers brushed along the sensitive underside, causing Aziraphale to gasp. He placed his arms around Crowley's neck, drawing him in closer. 

Starting with the tip, Crowley rubbed his thumb along the bottom of the head. He started light, increasing the pressure until Aziraphale trembled with desire. Carefully, Crowley started to stroke it, building up to more sensuous touches.

Thrusting upwards as best he could, Aziraphale ate up Crowley's simple offering. Simple did not mean ineffective. Increasing the pressure Crowley stroked Aziraphale with his lips against his ear. He whispered sweet nothings as the angel moaned out his desires. Proof the right touch performed in the correct manner could bring passion.

“There you go, angel, let it out. Nobody can see or hear you.”

Crowley bent down to kiss his cock but refrained from taking it in his mouth. This was a tease. What he wished was to lure Aziraphale back to where he was staying for further fun that was not possible here. A demonic miracle could not hide everything. Giving a light swipe with his tongue, he stood back up, returning to his hand. His lips he set on Aziraphale’s neck, indulging in a little worship, licking and sucking at Aziraphale's fine throat while he stroked him.

“Crowley, I can’t hold back . . . Oh, this certainly isn't proper for an angel!”

“Let go and quit worrying about it. If you truly cared about what was proper, you wouldn't keep meeting up with a demon.”

Aziraphale did, muffling his cries despite Crowley’s miracle. Warm liquid coated Crowley’s hand and spilt around their feet, Aziraphale blushing at the intimate mess he had created. A swift flick of Crowley's fingers vanished it off the floor and most of his hand.

“That’s it, angel. No reason you shouldn’t enjoy yourself. If you want more, here’s where I’m staying.”

Aziraphale watched Crowley lick the few remaining drops of his come off his fingers. It was sensuous, seductive. Afterwards, he disappeared, leaving Aziraphale alone. In his hand, he held a card containing a hotel address.

Damn that demon.

Trousers refastened, Aziraphale pulled himself back together mentally. Sighing in a feigned defeat, he read the address on the card. With a snap of his fingers, he left to seek out Crowley’s hotel for more hedonistic fun. Crowley had got exactly what he wanted, but so had Aziraphale.

**Author's Note:**

> ### Footnotes
> 
> 1. The Salon was the official art exhibition of the Academie des Beaux-Arts that started in the 1660s. It was the premiere exhibition for about 150 years from 1740-1890, making its influence on French artists enormous. Being chosen to display a work at the Salon could make you because that was the way to get noticed. It also was responsible for the stagnation of fine art thanks to its conservative views – the juries (made up of a handful of Academy members who were appointed for life) that chose art to be displayed overwhelmingly picked pieces that consisted of fine blended brushstrokes, duller colours and religious, historical or mythological scenes. The Impressionists’ works were rejected because they used unblended brushstrokes, brighter colours and oftentimes depicted modern life. Eventually the Salon became entirely too conservative, prompting artists to form their own exhibitions and its rejection of the avant-garde movement led to it losing its prestige. Today the Salon is just one of several major art exhibitions that take place in Paris every year.↩
> 
> 2. _The Dancer_ by Pierre-Auguste Renoir↩
> 
> 3. _Modern Olympia_ by Paul Cezanne. "Olympia" was a name associated with sex workers during that time period.↩


End file.
